


and you and I, we had the stars

by secretfeanorian



Series: made of starlight [10]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings Online
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 10:21:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8574583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretfeanorian/pseuds/secretfeanorian
Summary: For the first time in a long time, Rawlind allows herself to hope that maybe the worst is finally behind them.





	1. please don't let me fall

_Alas, so long as the music plays, we dance._

* * *

Ilordeth grabs Rawlind’s arm. “We need to get down to Harlond!” The elf shouts over the din of the battle. Rawlind takes a deep breath. Still holding it, she nods, eyes focused on the river where the banner of the King flies over Corsair ships. “Rawlind!” Ilordeth says again and Rawlind lets out an exhausted whoosh of air. Turning away from the hill, she glances around for Saerestel, catches sight of the elf’s large shield a little ways to the left and makes her way over to the rock it is resting against.  
  
Saerestel is leaning against it as well, breathing deeply. She glances up as Rawlind approaches and straightens up, reaching down to sling the shield over her shoulder. “Á tulë asenyë, Ercassë.” The Noldo mutters, rubbing her horse’s head.  
  
From behind Rawlind, Daefaroth nickers quietly. Ilordeth has swung atop Nunelir and is looking impatiently down at them. Rawlind chuckles momentarily, then pulls herself into the saddle.  
  
“Harlond awaits,” Saerestel mutters, a note of dry sarcasm in her tone.  
  
The three women make their way across the battlefield, cautiously picking their way around pockets of furiously battling Rohirrim and Orcs.  
  
Before long, the quays of Harlond loom before them and Rawlind dismounts, hearing more than seeing her companions do the same.  
  
“We must get around the soldiers stationed here and get to the fleet, and quickly!” Ilordeth whispers, her usual calm shaken by the battle. Saerestel grunts in agreement, and takes Ilordeth’s hand in hers. The elven minstrel takes a deep breath, then looks at Rawlind. “You’re the one who scouted Harlond,” She says, “What course would you suggest?”  
  
Rawlind’s eyes narrow and her mind works frantically as she takes in the positioning of the enemies they can see. Finally, she comes to a decision and points out their path. “If we are careful, we can slip around and make it to the docks without being spotted. If we are unlucky, there may be swimming involved.”  
  
Saerestel shrugs and then begins to creep her way along the wall; Ilordeth and Rawlind following close behind.  
  
“There!” Rawlind hisses after a few minutes – pointing towards the docks where the fleet of Corsair ships has come to rest. The two elves move toward them, but for a moment Rawlind finds her feet firmly rooted in place. Ilordeth turns around, quietly calling her name and suddenly she can move again.

They make their way to the flagship, where Aragorn is disembarking followed by Gimli and Legolas. When he sees Rawlind, he smiles briefly. “Our paths cross again, Rawlind.” He looks at the elven women accompanying her with slight confusion and it is not until Saerestel bows slightly and says “Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo, Estel,” that he recognizes them.  
  
He bows in turn and repeats the greeting. “I trust our entrance has remained unnoticed.” He says, returning to the matter at hand, and in response, Rawlind purses her lips, then nods.  
  
“I am fairly confident that it has…for the most part.” She adds and Aragorn nods.  
  
“I hope we are not too late for the battle.” Legolas mutters from Aragorn’s side and Saerestel snorts.  
  
“Well, you’ve missed most of the fun, but we saved some of these nadorhuanrim for you.” Ilordeth says with forced cheer and Rawlind laughs, then sobers.  
  
“You’ll need to make for the southern end of the Rammas; there’s a great big hole in the wall there.” She says, pointing south-ward.  
  
Aragorn’s eyes follow her hand and then he calls across to one of the nearby ships, “Halbarad, Elladan, Elrohir, we head for the southern gate of the Rammas. Quickly now!”  
  
Rawlind turns to see the three called climbing off their ship and they join the six of them. She looks down the dock and notes the Haradrim and Uruks waiting there. All around them, Gondorian soldiers are beginning to make their way into Harlond and already the din of battle has begun to sound.  
  
With a roar, Saerestel charges toward the enemies waiting for them. “Do not let them reach the land!” One of the warriors screams, before he is overcome. The group is no match for them and soon enough, the clash ends. That scuffle, however, is only the beginning, and they press on through Harlond, eventually coming to a blockaded street.  
  
“We must clear a path!” Aragorn cries, and a group of rangers comes rushing from the street they’d just cleared. Rawlind scans the group and spots Lothrandir, but before she can speak to him, Aragorn begins speaking to her and she refocuses her attention to him.  
  
“If all of Harlond is blockaded like this, it will take far too long to join the battle,” He is saying and Rawlind nods in agreement.  
  
Saerestel cracks her knuckles and her wife sighs. “We need to get Harlond’s gate open,” She says and Aragorn looks at her, already nodding.  
  
“I shall lead a charge to Pelennor, making way through the breach in the Rammas,” He says, “I need you three to move through Harlond and open that gate! It will be quickest for the rest of my men to enter the fields from that point, once the port is clear.”  
  
With a loud groan, the barricade impeding their progress collapses and a soft cheer goes up from the group. Rawlind looks up to speak with Lothrandir for a moment, but the rangers are already moving again through Harlond and she resigns herself to waiting a while longer.  
  
Rawlind, Ilordeth, and Saerestel take the road to the right while Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas follow the rangers and the sons of Elrond down the left. “Good luck!” Aragorn calls out before disappearing around the corner.  
  
Rawlind takes a deep breath, prays she hasn’t just made a giant mistake not catching Lothrandir now, and presses on after her elven companions. The battle isn’t over and if she survives, she’ll have time to worry later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ilordeth is my minstrel (In case that wasn’t completely obvious from context clues), Saerestel is my guardian and Naerwen is my capped rune-keeper (I have two rune-keepers). None of them actually have those names in game, they’re all named variants of “Raw…” (For example, the rune-keeper is actually Rawshil) I haven’t really used any of them in these before, but I needed two other characters outside of existing ones for the Quays bit and once the mini & the guard were in, Rawshil snuck in as well.  
> Yes, Ilordeth and Saerestel are married, yes they’re lesbians, go fuck yourself.  
> ALSO, my warden = Famaer (Again, not actual in game name, sorry if someone actually uses those names) and she and Naerwen are…not married yet, but 100% courting and moving to that.  
> Beyond that summary, I don’t want to get to into their backstory because then we’ll be here all night, but expect to see more of them in the event I continue writing. Since I wrote the last pieces, I have started (or re-started) playing them all…fairly actively (mini & rk mostly, mini’s shot up a lot of levels recently) and have begun to develop significant feelings about them too.
> 
> 1: “Á tulë asenyë” is Quenya for “Come with me”.  
> 2: “Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo” is Quenya for “A star shines upon the hour of our meeting.” (And Estel is Hope, which was Aragorn’s childhood name)  
> 3: “Nadorhuanrim” is Sindarin (?) for “cowardly dogs”. (Singular version would be “Nadorhuan”)


	2. we are becoming

_Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Do not be afraid._

* * *

Gasping for breath, Rawlind falls against the destroyed gate of Minas Tirith, sliding to a sitting position on the ground. “How many?” She chokes out under her breath, “How many how many how many how-” Finding no answers in her desperate gasping, she buries her face in her hands and begins to shake. The horrors of the last few hours are building up and so many dead faces are burned into the backs of her eyelids.  
  
Suddenly, she feels a hand come to rest on her shoulders and she flinches back. The hand retreats, but she then hears someone sit down next to her. She wants to look and see who it is, but she finds herself too scared to do so.  
  
“Rawlind?” She hears Lothrandir ask and a fraction of the tension in her body lets go of her muscles.  
  
He’s alive.  
  
He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive.  
  
Rawlind finally manages to stop shaking and – without opening her eyes – she tips her head back to bang against the wall behind her. She considers just leaving it there, but then remembering her promises to herself in Harlond, she sits up straight and opens her eyes.  
  
Lothrandir is watching her with worry in his eyes and it is clear to Rawlind that he is even more exhausted than she, but he smiles nonetheless when their eyes meet.  
  
Rawlind opens her mouth, but any words she can think of stick in her throat and refuse to come out. After several minutes of this version of silence pass, she finally just closes her mouth and presses herself tight against Lothrandir’s side. Almost as an afterthought, she wraps one arm around him possessively. After a second of hesitation, she feels him lean his head on her shoulder and the two sit there, not making a sound, for how many minutes Rawlind loses count. They blur into one long moment as her mind works furiously, but eventually her thoughts calm.  
  
The field still reeks of death, but she finds she feels safely detached from all the horrors of the battle. She looks over at Lothrandir to say…something, but the man’s eyes are closed and his breathing has evened out. Rawlind watches him for a few minutes, then a smile spreads across her face.  
  
“Rawlind?” She hears Ilordeth calling for her from somewhere on her left and she turns her head to face the direction of the elf’s voice. She doesn’t have to wait long, because only a few moments pass before Ilordeth rounds the corner of a large pile of rubble compiled mostly of a burned siege tower, followed closely by Saerestel.  
  
When Ilordeth spots Rawlind and Lothrandir curled against each other, a broad smile spreads across her face. She opens her mouth to say something, but Rawlind interrupts her with an irritated glare. A quiet laugh comes from behind Ilordeth and the minstrel looks back at her wife briefly before returning to Rawlind.  
  
“Naerwen was looking for you earlier,” Ilordeth whispers, “and Aragorn wants to speak with, well, us at some point once we’ve all had a chance to rest for a while.” She pauses for a moment. Behind her, Saerestel is still chuckling. “We’ll go tell…both of them that you’re…occupied.”  
  
Rawlind feels Lothrandir stir beside her and she stiffens. “Alright,” She whispers back, and after one last chuckle, Saerestel turns to leave and Ilordeth follows.  
  
Only a few moments after they are left alone, Lothrandir lifts his head from Rawlind’s shoulder and looks at her. “Raw?” His voice is heavy with sleep, and she takes a deep breath in.  
  
“Yes, Loth?” Instead of answering, the man blinks and stretches. Then he turns his head to face Rawlind. The world feels muted, as if everything around them has stopped as they watch each other. After a very long moment, Rawlind reaches up and cradles Lothrandir’s head in her hands. What she expects to feel like an earth-shattering revelation, is instead more of a quiet trickle that slowly fills her up. When Lothrandir reaches to cover one of her hands with his own and smiles like nothing has ever gone wrong, however, the wave slams into her and she feels her hands begin to tremble. Lothrandir moves his hands to cup her face in turn. Rawlind notices that he too is shaking. She leans forward and rests her forehead against his, breathing deeply.  
  
“I thought you had finally gotten yourself killed,” Lothrandir whispers. When Rawlind looks, tears are making their way down his face. “And I couldn’t breathe.” She looks down and licks her lips. Her instinctive reaction is to make a joke about how she had felt the same, but this time she restrains it. The moment feels too…vulnerable…bared open…for any such levity. Instead, she does what she has been wanting to do for several years; she closes the final distance separating them and kisses him.  
  
As kisses go, it’s not a particularly outstanding one, but when they part for air, the feeling of elation engulfing her knows no equals. Neither of them speak and they sit facing each other, grinning like fools until Lothrandir leans in and kisses her again.  
  
Rawlind starts to giggle, and when Lothrandir pulls back, his expression is trying to be one of offense, but the sides of his mouth are twitching and before long, he starts to giggle too. Engrossed in their half-hysterical amusement, they don’t hear the approaching man until he is almost upon them.  
  
Rawlind looks up to see Aragorn standing a short distance away, brow furrowed in confusion, but a tired smile making its way across his face. For some reason, this seems amusing enough to the lore-master that the further laughter this induces causes her to lean against Lothrandir; shoulders shaking violently. He wraps his arms around her tightly, but she’s certain she can feel him continuing to shake with laughter. (Almost certain; she’s shaking enough that it **could** just be her imagination.)  
  
She hears Aragorn say something and she hears Lothrandir respond, but all she can focus on is the lightness in Lothrandir’s voice. The last time he’d sounded so…unburdened seems a lifetime ago. And Rawlind finds that nothing seems quite as terrible as it had before. Many are dead already, and more will follow in the days to come, but the weight of all their lives doesn’t press as heavily on her anymore. For the first time in a **long** time, she allows herself to hope that maybe, just maybe, the worst is now behind them.


End file.
